Been there, felt that, Jenny. I flipped back in my notebook and on the 4th of July I ended my (super short) writing with "Sappy, I know, but it's the best I can do at the moment." Kind of an "F-you, writing" sort of thing. Still counts, that's the beauty of this whole prompt writing thing, ANY words count kind of like NaNoWriMo. Which we are soooo not doing again anytime soon.
July 20--Write about passing time--"Jes' passing time." That's what Noah called sitting in his yellow metal rocking chair under the shade of the catalpa tree. He'd sit there in his overalls and chambray shirt, dirty work boots planted firmly on the ground, and fan himself with an old straw hat that had once been spiffy but had not aged well. He'd have a sweating glass of Della's lemonade in his other hand and would sip on it when he "got parched from all the talking" like it was my fault he told me stories. I'd giggle from my seat in the cool grass and tell him I needed more. "More stories?" he'd say and shake his head. "I never knew a girl liked stories like you do." He'd take another sip of the perfect sweet-sour drink and launch us off on another adventure. Sometimes we were in the wild west with the Sioux (he called them his blood brothers), other times we'd be with Rogers' Raiders in the war. Noah lived just long enough to see me married, but his stories were always my children's favorites and the grandkids like them too.
Now it's time to get ready for work and make my lunch. Boo. Although, it is payday. Maybe it isn't such a "boo" day after all.
--Barbara
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